


in another life

by breakmystrings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakmystrings/pseuds/breakmystrings
Summary: Auston shows up at Stromer’s place feeling significantly more human.  He even went through the effort of putting on a pair of jeans that he paid too much money for, but he draws the line at doing his hair (he’s got a beanie pulled over his head) because it’s not like he needs to impress Stromer.The door swings open after he knocks, but it’s not Stromer that’s greeting him.  Instead, it’s a slim guy that looks even younger than Auston with fluffy brown hair and pretty blue eyes, dressed comfortably in sweats and a t-shirt with a stain near the collar.  His eyes widen almost comically at Auston, gaping at him, and before Auston can even say “hi”, he slams the door in his face.Well then.





	in another life

**Author's Note:**

> [Engineer!Mitch](https://breakmystrings.tumblr.com/tagged/engineer-mitch), originally posted on my Tumblr (originally titled "to be or not to be").

Auston’s heard all about Stromer and his roommate situation. Most rookies live with a billet or their own family, or they room with another teammate. Auston’s got his dad staying with him most days, even if he has to travel back home to deal with work stuff once in a while. Stromer, on the other hand, isn’t doing any of that. Instead, he’s rooming with an old friend that’s still going to school. And not to sound completely and utterly selfish, but with the way their schedules are, sometimes it’s hard not to make it so that everyone else’s world revolves around theirs (something he’ll never stop trying to repay his family for), which makes Auston wonder how Stromer hasn’t completely driven his roommate nuts.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Stromer says when the boys bring it up again at a team lunch. “Willy and Kappy have been living together for a while. I don’t see you guys giving them grief.” He swipes a fry from Mo’s plate and nearly gets a fork in his hand for the blatant thievery. His reflexes are the only thing that saves him from losing a finger, and he grins like a dick while Mo looks ready for murder. “Marns is the best roommate.”

 

“Wasn’t he the one you said drove you nuts as a kid?” Mo asks. He drags his plate closer towards himself and much further away from Stromer.

 

“Yeah, but now we’re best buddies,” Stromer says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. Auston supposes it’s really not, the same way people get traded and learn to play with people they’ve cross-checked and slashed. “Marns finally accepted I was the better man, so I forgave him for being a dick when he groveled and begged for forgiveness.”

 

“I’m _sure_ ,” Mo says, his voice conveying exactly how much he actually believes Stromer’s bullshit. “But for real, how hasn’t he murdered you yet? You’re so fucking loud sometimes. Doesn’t he have to study and shit?”

 

Stromer snorts and says, “If you think _I’m_ loud,” and then he swipes another fry while Mo is distracted. Honestly, at this point, he’s just doing it to be a dick. Auston can’t help smirking at his death wish. “We make it work. I don’t bug him when he’s got exams and he doesn’t pester me during nap time. Being in a successful relationship is all about compromise Mo. This is why Gards ditched you.”

 

“He’s not wrong,” Gards says, grinning like an asshole, and Mo chucks the remaining fries at Stormer, but he catches it with his mouth, grinning toothily at them and looking way too proud of himself. That starts a whole thing where everyone starts pitching food at Stromer, just to see who can score the most points. Auston gets a hat-trick of peas in rapid succession that nearly makes Stromer choke, and he’s immediately declared the winner.

 

Auston stands up and cheers, arms above his head and everything, and says, “Guess my work here is done.” He laughs when someone throws a balled-up napkin, sidestepping it easily and letting it hit Stromer instead, who sputters and complains.

 

Yeah, his team’s alright.

 

*

 

The Stromer chirping stops (or at least the stuff about his roommate being a saint to put up with him) when they head out on the road. They blow all three games, and then blow it some more on home ice against Tampa Bay. Babs bag skates them until Auston wants to die. He can’t even feel his limbs (how the hell are his arms so fucking tired; it’s like someone tied an iron ball and chain to his wrists) and he sits in his car for a while, just trying to remember how to breathe again when he hears someone tap on his car. 

 

Fuck, Auston really hopes it’s not a fan that snuck in hoping for an autograph, and he immediately feels guilty and ungrateful.

 

When he turns to see who it is, he sees Stromer looking like a hot mess, wet hair all over the place, and the disgusting patch of stubble on his chin that he refuses to shave off even if he’s getting torn apart in the locker room about it.

 

“If you’re not too dead, come over for dinner and some ass-whooping on COD? Marns just finished midterms and I told him we’d celebrate with nachos and burritos,” Stromer says.

 

Auston doesn’t really know how he fits into Stromer’s plan, but he’s not going to say no to food and company that’s not his dad (he loves him and his dad always gives him space, but Auston feels too much like a kid in front of him sometimes). Also, fuck Stromer and his not-superior gaming skills throwing fucking stones.

 

“Text me the address,” Auston says. Stromer gives him a thumb’s up and stumbles over to his own car. It’s almost comical the way he’s moving, his feet dragging on the ground, and Auston laughs when Stromer has to lean against his car to fish out his keys, face scrunched up in agony when he needs to bend down to pick them up because of his butter fingers.

 

Auston leaves Stromer to struggle and heads home first. He gets a message once he’s in the garage and realizes that Stromer’s place is only a short drive away (he’d walk if Babs didn’t try to fucking murder them with practice). He checks the time. He can probably sneak in a quick nap before he heads over. He feels like he deserves one.

 

*

 

Auston shows up at Stromer’s place feeling significantly more human. He even went through the effort of putting on a pair of jeans that he paid too much money for, but he draws the line at doing his hair (he’s got a beanie pulled over his head) because it’s not like he needs to impress Stromer.

 

The door swings open after he knocks, but it’s not Stromer that’s greeting him. Instead, it’s a slim guy that looks even younger than Auston with fluffy brown hair and pretty blue eyes, dressed comfortably in sweats and a t-shirt with a stain near the collar. His eyes widen almost comically at Auston, gaping at him, and before Auston can even say “hi”, he slams the door in his face.

 

Well then.

 

Auston pulls out his phone to double-check the address again, but he’s got it right. It’s definitely Stromer’s place, unless that asshole gave him the wrong address. He’s just about to call him when the door swings open again and this time, it’s Stromer’s face that’s staring back at him, and he looks seconds away from laughing.

 

“Hey man, sorry about that. Marns got a little starstruck there,” Stromer says with a shit-eating grin. He starts to chuckle and motions for Auston to go inside. “Make yourself at home.”

 

Auston steps out of his shoes (a habit that took a while), and he takes a quick look around Stromer’s place. It’s about as clean as one would expect from two guys living on their own, and it’s no surprise that the most impressive thing is their entertainment set-up with a massive TV (no different than Auston’s own place).

 

“You came just in time, I was just getting an order together. Here, pick your own fixings,” Stromer says as he shoves the iPad across the kitchen island. Auston settles onto one of the stools there and gets his order together. He’s just about to ask about his roommate when he sees him reappear from one of the rooms. This time, he’s wearing jeans and a clean t-shirt that doesn’t have a stain on it. His cheeks are flushed, hand scratching the side of his jaw, but he’s smiling when he walks towards Auston.

 

“Hey, sorry about that. You kind of caught me off-guard,” he says. “You know, it’s not everyday that Auston Matthews shows up at our door.” He throws a dirty look at Stromer, but Stromer shrugs like it’s not his fault and gives his roommate a light shove.

 

“It’s fine,” Auston says. “People usually get too touchy when they see me show up unannounced at their door. This was a nice change of pace.”

 

The roommate laughs, sounding much more amused than Auston’s joke warranted.

 

“I’m Mitchell Marner,” he says, extending a hand towards Auston. “Most people just call me Mitch.”

 

“Or Marns,” Stromer adds, not even bothering to look up from where he’s fiddling with his iPad. “Relics from the old days.”

 

The name sounds vaguely familiar to Auston, but he can’t quite figure out why. He shrugs it off and figures it’ll come to him if it’s important, and he shakes Mitch’s hand.

 

“Call me Auston,” he says. Mitch grins happily and hops onto the stool next to him.

 

“Sucks about the game last night,” Mitch says, and then immediately winces, like he’s not sure if he should’ve brought that up.

 

Auston shrugs. “We’ll do better tomorrow,” he says, _promises_ , because their fans deserve a better showing than what they gave last night.

 

“Marns is a big fan,” Stromer says. “Lifelong Leafer.”

 

“So just like you,” Auston says. Stromer laughs and nods.

 

“Yup, get used to it bud. You’re living in Leafs Nation now,” Stromer says. “Marns ran out to buy your jersey after your four-goal game. Like, _right_ after.”

 

Mitch groans and drops his head onto the counter. He looks embarrassed, and Auston tries to hide the smug smile on his face. “Oh really,” Auston says, aiming for casual but it comes across much more amused.

 

“Why did you have to tell him that?” Mitch complains. “I hate you.”

 

Stromer shrugs. “Your fault for being a traitor. I’m your best bud and you didn’t even bother to go and support me.”

 

Mitch lifts his head up and gives Stromer an unimpressed face. “Why would I buy your jersey when I can just wear one of yours? Poor student here.”

 

“For support!” Stromer says, voice pitched higher as he throws his hands up dramatically. “This guy doesn’t need you to pad his sales.”

 

Auston laughs. “Sorry Stromer, but he’s got better taste than that.” Mitch cracks up and fist-pumps Auston for his chirp.

 

Stromer pouts. “Hey, who’s paying for dinner here?” Mitch reaches out and pats his shoulder.

 

“My bad. You’re still number one in my heart Stromer,” Mitch says, clearly teasing still, but Stromer looks placated anyway. Auston is starting to see how they’ve managed to make their living arrangement work so well despite their own crazy schedules. They’re clearly close friends, and they’ve mastered the push-and-pull bickering that reminds Auston of how he is with his sisters.

 

“So, what are you studying?” Auston asks. Mitch perks up, looking surprised at the question.

 

“Uh, I’m in my second year at UofT studying materials engineering,” Mitch says, sounding almost shy but pleased.

 

“Wow,” Auston says. Studying and school was never his strong point. Being on the rink and out in the field always felt more important, even if Alex and Bree like to lord that over him and joke about how that explains all the rocks in his head (sisters are the _worst_ ).

 

“Marns studied his ass off and got in with a GED and prep courses,” Stromer says with the same kind of pride that Auston hears from his parents when they talk about him and his sisters.

 

Mitch shrugs, looking shy and bashful at Stromer’s praise, and says, “Just trying to get by now. Calculus is no joke.”

 

Auston can barely remember Pythagorean’s theorem, let alone solving differential equations so he can’t relate.

 

“Anyway, enough about math. Who wants to get a round of COD going before the food gets here?” Stromer asks. Mitch cheers loudly, and Auston doesn’t even get a chance to respond before he’s skidding across the room in his socks and then his ass when he falls over, laughing the whole time, while he tries to get the Xbox set up.

 

Auston sticks around for a while, hanging out with them. They game for a while and then put on a movie with dinner, and it’s actually pretty nice. Mitch is fun to be around, always quick to laugh and make jokes, and he seems to bring out the best and worst in Stromer, bantering back and forth in a way that makes Auston ache for some of his closest friends back home, but they never make Auston feel isolated from the conversation. Plus, Stromer is always hilarious to be around, setting himself up to be chirped most of the time.

 

When Auston gets up to leave, he jokes, “So Mitch, want me to sign your jersey before I go?” Auston expects him to laugh it off, but Mitch surprises him with the way his face lights up, like a switch has been flipped, and he nods his head excitedly while Stromer straight up cackles.

 

“Shut up Stromer, you’re just jealous I never ask you to sign anything except the bill,” Mitch says, and then he’s taking off down the hallway while Auston stands there, stunned but amused. He’s signed plenty of things in the past, including stuff for family and friends, but Mitch is kind of in the awkward in-between of being a friend and fan; he can’t imagine any of his buddies back home being half as excited to get Auston’s autograph.

 

“I’m going to sign over top of his signature when you’re asleep,” Stromer yells, and the horrified sound that comes back makes Auston laugh out loud.

 

“Your roommate is something else,” Auston says, but he’s smiling when Mitch comes back with his jersey and he signs inside the number on the back.

 

“Thanks,” Mitch says, sounding way too happy about something so simple. He clutches the jersey close to his chest, smiling big and almost too wide for his face, and Auston’s struck by how beautiful he looks, the genuine happiness written all over his face.

 

Auston tugs on his beanie and kind of wishes he spent the extra five minutes he had, to fix his hair.

 

*

 

The next time Auston sees Mitch, it’s on a slow afternoon at the Wendy’s near his place after practice and he looks like a mess in his sweats and beanie. His intention was to just grab some food and then head home right away, but Mitch smiles wide and waves at him where he’s sitting by the window. He hesitates for a moment, but it’s not like he has anywhere better to be so he wanders over to where Mitch is once his order is done.

 

“Hey,” Mitch greets him happily. “I guess even Mr. First Overall needs his chicken strips.” But then his brows go up rather spectacularly when Auston pulls out the equivalent of two more meals and digs in.

 

“What?” Auston asks, returning the judgemental stare. “I can burn this easily at a skate.”

 

Mitch laughs. “True. I can’t do that anymore,” he says, smiling still. “Nice win against the Oilers by the way. Davo called me just to complain about Kadri’s goal.” Mitch laughs when he says that, like he’s still amused by it. “And then he complained about being called a whiner. Must suck being Hockey Jesus.”

 

Auston quirks a brow up. “Do you know all the Ontario hockey players?” Auston asks. He means it as a joke, but Mitch shrugs, grinning slightly, and says, “Us Ontario hockey boys like to stick together.”

 

“Oh,” Auston says, surprised. He pops a fry into his mouth and asks, “Why’d you stop?” He immediately regrets it, cringing inwardly. Lots of guys quit because they know they’re not going to make it, and others quit because of injuries. Neither of those things are fun to talk about it and Auston should’ve known better than to pry.

 

Mitch doesn’t look offended by the question though, his shoulders still loose and relaxed. “I guess I should’ve figured I wasn’t famous enough for you to know me,” Mitch says, tongue poking out adorably, and even though it’s a joke, it makes Auston blush anyway. “I quit after my first year in the OHL. Figured it was probably better for me to go back to school.”

 

Auston knows better than to ask why this time, but Mitch doesn’t look sad or unhappy about it. Auston can’t imagine life without hockey for himself, but he also knows the odds of making it to the big leagues, and he knows they aren’t good. Sometimes, pulling the plug before years of sacrifice go down the drain is the best decision to make.

 

“So what will you do with your fancy degree when you’re done?” Auston asks instead, and it seems like the right thing to do because Mitch straightens up with a blinding smile. He starts going on about how his degree can work in pretty much every industry out there, but he wants to get into designing hockey equipment.

 

“Just think, one day, the great Auston Matthews could be snapping home hat tricks with a stick designed by me,” Mitch says, gesturing wildly with his hands. He looks excited at the prospect of that happening. “It’s still early, but I’m eyeing an internship opportunity this summer with True Hockey. If I can keep my grades up, should be a slam dunk.” Mitch crosses his fingers with both hands, like he doesn’t want to jinx it, and Auston would laugh if he didn’t find Mitch absolutely adorable.

 

“Good luck,” Auston says. “Make something good and I’ll help you test it out.”

 

Mitch _beams_. “I’m going to hold you to that!” He sticks out his fist, and it takes Auston a while before he realizes he wants them to swear on it. Auston grins and pounds his fist against Mitch’s, the gesture ridiculous but endearing.

 

They finish their meal and fill the conversation with stories about Mitch’s lab partner that he likes but is so damn clumsy, the grind of the NHL schedule that makes Auston wish he could sleep forever, Professor Williams that’s like the devil himself, and whether Stromer looks more disgusting with the bleached blonde hair or fuzzy patch he tries to pass off as facial hair. It’s the most fun Auston’s had away from his team in a while, and when they leave, Auston’s got Mitch’s number and Snap added to his phone and a dumb smile stuck on his face.

 

*

 

They get a win on the road against the Sabres and blow the Canucks away on home ice in a mess of a game. There were fights and a ton of goals; the fans went crazy for it. Auston also gets caught singing on the bench, but only because Mitch kept sending him a million snaps of him (and sometimes Stromer) singing Livin’ on a Prayer (very badly) and the lyrics got stuck in his head. And of course, that’s what the media gets stuck on, and that’s the video that goes viral. His sisters posted a link in their group chat with a bunch of laughing emojis and his mom apparently watched the video three times already and thinks it’s adorable. Auston shakes his head, but he tries to play it up for the fans since they’re clearly loving it.

 

They have a scheduled day off after the win, and Auston uses it wisely by sleeping in until his dad knocks on his door to make sure he’s still alive (he sleeps for another hour after he goes away) and when he finally manages to get his ass out of bed, his dad is busy with work in his room, and Auston can’t be bothered to make a proper breakfast (well, lunch really) so he throws a few slices of bread in the toaster and fiddles with his iPad.

 

He makes it to third slice of toast before he thinks about googling Mitch. He got curious after their first conversation, but he hasn’t had time to look him up, until now. He expects there to be maybe a few box score mentions, or maybe an article or two, but the first thing that pops up is his Elite Prospects page and a pretty flattering blurb on his skill. Auston goes back to read some of the articles that popped up, but they don’t go into much detail about why he left the league, especially since he turned down a full scholarship at Michigan for the London Knights. He was expected to go high in his draft year with Davo and Stromer, and based on all the articles, he didn’t quit because he wasn’t good enough and he didn’t quit because he was injured. He just, quit.

 

It’s like Auston falls down the rabbit hole after that. He spends the rest of his afternoon looking up old clips of Mitch playing. There’s a hilarious one of him with a bowl cut and proudly declaring the Toronto Maple Leafs as his favourite team. But there are also a lot of clips that show off how good he was, even as a young kid. He looked first round pick good. He had so much skill and he skated really well, probably better than Auston at the same age. Even when he was the smallest guy on the ice (and often times, it looked like he was), Auston could tell he was still a step ahead of everyone else.

 

He grabs his phone and Snaps a picture of an old video of Mitch playing and captions it with “hockey prodigy????” before sending it to him. He gets a text back a few minutes later, and at first, it’s just a series of fire emojis, but then he adds, “I was a cute kid right?” which wasn’t the point at all. He doesn’t say anything else after that so Auston just tells him that he was really good.

 

It takes a while before Mitch responds again, and it’s to chirp him about how he could skate circles around Auston even now. Auston snorts, and texts back “put up or shut up”. Mitch responds with “(ง'̀-'́)ง” and it’s silly and ridiculous but it makes Auston laugh out loud.

 

It is _on_.

 

*

 

Auston pulls some strings and gets them access to Ricoh after practice. He doesn’t really like doing things like this if he doesn’t have to, but he’d never let a challenge like Mitch’s pass him by. Also, the thought of getting to see Mitch’s skill on display, up close and personal, makes his nerves tingle with anticipation.

 

“Man, must be nice being the face of the best franchise in the universe,” Mitch teases, again. “Peasants like us have to go to the public rinks.”

 

Auston rolls his eyes and Mitch laughs at him.

 

They get ready on the bench, and Mitch steps out onto the ice first with his gloves and stick, dressed comfortably in sweats and a hoodie while Auston’s still sweaty from practice in his Under Armour and leggings. The second Mitch’s feet touch the ice, it’s like a switch has been flipped, and he looks positively exhilarating. He skates like it comes as natural as breathing, every twist and turn as strong as anyone else that Auston’s played with. Auston gets caught watching because even though he knew what the expect, watching Mitch skate, he can tell he hasn’t lost too many steps from his London Knights days.

 

“Are you going to come join me or what?” Mitch yells down the rink with a big grin.

 

Auston pushes a few pucks onto the ice and picks one up with his stick and skates to where Mitch is skating perfect circles around centre ice. “Want to show me what you’ve got with some keepaway?”

 

Mitch shrugs, grinning still, and says, “I’m ready whenever you are.” Before Auston can make a move, Mitch swoops in and snatches the puck cleanly off his stick. Auston sputters indignantly at him since he didn’t even say he was ready, but cheating clearly delights Mitch because he’s practically cackling while he twists and turns away from Auston, all while protecting the puck with the same kind of persistence as if this was game seven for the Stanley Cup.

 

Mitch shields the puck really well, even if Auston is nearly twice as wide as him. Auston will take the puck away for a few seconds, but then Mitch will come kicking it away from Auston and he uses his body to push Auston away. How such a scrawny guy can possess such insane puck protection skills is baffling to Auston.

 

After a while of back and forth, Mitch takes the puck and skates it down the ice as if he’s on a breakaway.

 

“And, Marner’s on a break!” Mitch’s voice booms loudly in the empty rink with his best Cuthbert impression. He’s stickhandling the puck, clearly putting on a show for Auston before he snaps the puck in top shelf. “And he scores!” Mitch celebrates as if this is a real game, his arms raised, and he’s skating straight for Auston. Auston barely has time to brace himself before he’s got his arms full of Mitch, who’s laughing delightedly in his ears. His laugh is so infectious that Auston can’t help laughing along with him too, his chest warming from the feel of Mitch around him.

 

It takes every ounce of willpower for Auston not to reach out again when Mitch pulls back, his face full of mirth.

 

“You know, I could’ve been your teammate,” Mitch says, smiling, as he skates back to retrieve the puck. “Hunter told me if I worked for it, I could’ve been top five in the draft. And then, we could’ve played together.” He doesn’t say it wistfully, or as if he regrets anything; he says it to Auston like it’s just another fact of life. “But that, that’d mean Dyls would be somewhere else, so that’d suck.”

 

Auston thinks about him and Mitch playing on the same team, maybe even on the same line, and what the chances are of that happening, if the Leafs would’ve taken him or stuck with Stromer. It’s too far from the reality they’re in now, and Auston doesn’t like to think about “what ifs”.

 

“This worked out too, didn’t it?” Auston asks, and the way Mitch’s face softens, his smile small but genuine; Auston knows he said the right thing.

 

“Damn right,” Mitch says. “Plus, you probably don’t want me showing you up anyway.”

 

“Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Auston says, and he puts his game face on and chases Mitch down.

 

*

 

They mess around on the ice for a while longer, working along the boards with some pushing and shoving that Auston’s extra careful about since they aren’t wearing pads, but Mitch is ruthless on the puck. He’s a lot stronger than his scrawny frame gives away, and his edgework is _unreal_. It makes Auston wonder why he quit because he’s certainly good enough to make it to the big show, but it seems like a personal decision that Mitch is happy about, or doesn’t look like he regrets. It’s really none of Auston’s business to make him explain more than he already has.

 

When they’re done, they’re both flushed and sweating and it’s objectively pretty gross, but it’s like there’s a permanent smile stamped onto Mitch’s face. He looks so damn happy that it makes something flutter inside of Auston’s chest, just watching him. He recognizes that feeling for what it is, but he really doesn’t want to think about it right now.

 

“Good skate, Mitch says, beaming still. “We should do it again. It was fun.”

 

Auston nods. “I’ll see if I can get the rink again.” He thinks about their schedule and remembers that they’ve got a day off after their road trip. He makes a mental note to message the rink manager to see if there’s anything going on that day.

 

“Do you want to go for lunch?” Auston asks. The thought of food makes his stomach growl almost instantly.

 

Mitch’s face falls. “Oh man, I wish I could. This was already my study break,” Mitch say apologetically, like this is a bigger deal than just lunch. “I have a couple of assignments to finish so I should head home to do that.”

 

Auston is disappointed, but he gets it. He knows Mitch has a lot going on with school and shit, so he tries not to let it show on his face.

 

“Next time then,” Auston says, and Mitch instantly perks up. “I can drop you off if you didn’t drive?”

 

“That’d be awesome, thanks,” Mitch says, and they prompt gather their things so they can walk out to the parking lot together.

 

Mitch keeps the mood light by talking about how his classes are going on the ride home, how he’s drowning in labs and assignments and quizzes, and the only thing keeping him and Stromer alive are their moms who come over every other week to stock up their fridge with food so that they don’t starve. And when he’s too lazy to do his own laundry, he’ll help himself to Stromer’s closet for clothes that dwarfs him, but apparently most students look like slobs anyway so he blends right in. Auston laughs, but he can sympathize since his dad only visits now and most of Auston’s meals are takeout.

 

After Auston drops Mitch off and gets homes, he’s already got two new snaps from Mitch. The first one is Stromer’s unimpressed face with the caption “dyls pouting cuz we had fun wo him” and the second is of a pile of his textbooks with the horrified and crying emojis plastered all over it. Auston smiles and takes a snap of himself chilling on the couch, and Mitch texts back a stream of side-eyes and exclamation marks that makes Auston laugh out loud until he feels warm all over.

 

*

 

They beat the Oilers on the road (awesome), blow it against the Flames (not awesome), and can’t score a shootout goal to save their lives against the Canucks (a _nightmare_ ). Three points out of six on the road isn’t terrible, but the mood is still a downer on the long flight home from Vancouver. Auston just wants to sleep, he’s so tired, and most of the guys (thankfully) leave him alone to do just that.

 

Mo pats him on the shoulder when he walks past, the touch comforting and grounding, and Marty messes up his hair because he’s an asshole and says, “We’ll get them next time.” Auston wasn’t exactly brooding over the loss, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

 

Just as Auston’s about to fall asleep, Stromer plops down next to him and jolts him back awake with a gentle bump against his shoulder. Auston wants to tell him to go away so that Auston can sleep, but he seems to be making himself comfortable so Auston knows better than to kick him out.

 

“So, you and Marns eh?” Stromer’s voce comes out strangely even, neither happy or upset, which is unusual for him. Indignant is usually his default tone. “Sounds like you guys have been hanging out.”

 

“Uh yeah, a little,” Auston says, not really sure where this is going and why it has to be discussed right this minute when sleep is an option. “We were going to mess around at the Coliseum tomorrow. Want to join?”

 

“God no. I think we’re on skates enough already,” Stromer says with a shudder, like that’s the last thing he wants, and Auston didn’t realize how much he was looking forward to spending time with just Mitch until the relief hits him with Stromer’s response. Stromer gives him a look, like he just saw right through him, and Auston has to try and keep his chill going because it’s not like he has any right to monopolize Mitch’s time.

 

“You could use the practice,” Auston says to try and lighten the mood, and he laughs when Stromer shoves him for that jab. Auston waits to see if Stromer was trying to make some kind of point about Mitch, but nothing comes so Auston puts his seat even further back and tries to get a few hours of sleep before they land.

 

*

 

Auston meets Mitch late in the afternoon because Mitch has studying and homework to do, but that works out great for Auston because that means he can sleep in since they don’t have practice or meetings after the road trip. He picks Mitch up from his apartment and Mitch looks even more exhausted than Auston when he gets into the car.

 

“You okay?” Auston asks. Mitch just groans and throws his head back against the seat.

 

“Calculus sucks _so_ hard. It’s owning my ass and I’m going to flunk out of university and become a bum and a dropout and die alone.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Auston, and he can’t help rolling his eyes. Apparently Stromer-style dramatics are contagious. “Yes, you’re going to be washed up and a loner for life at nineteen because of one failed exam.”

 

Mitch punches him in the arm, but Auston can see the corners of his mouth twitching, like he’s trying to hide his smile. “You’re supposed to be all supportive and shit, and say something like ‘you’ll show those differential equations who’s boss’.” Mitch even changes his voice when he says that, brows furrowing a bit with the weird falsetto, like he’s trying to imitate Auston, which, fucking _rude_.

 

“I do _not_ sound like that,” Auston says, offended, and he punches Mitch in the arm while he cackles.

 

“You kind of do,” Mitch says with a big goofy grin, and he does it again, only this time he’s mocking Auston’s media-approved responses from his post-games and what he has to do to succeed. He makes Auston sound like he’s bored to death of questions and his voice pitched oddly high, and Auston knows for a fact that he does _not_ sound even close to that. Mitch makes him sound like a complete tool, but it’s hard to be too annoyed at him when he looks so happy doing it so he lets it slide.

 

“Do you want to reschedule today?” Auston asks, once Mitch is finished with making fun of his perfectly awesome voice. He was looking forward to this, but Mitch does look stressed and if he needs time to study then Auston doesn’t want to take him away from that.

 

“No way,” Mitch says with enough vehemence in his words to surprise Auston. “I need to get away from my books, even just for a couple of hours. My brain is about to melt between my ears.”

 

“Good thing you don’t need your brain for hockey,” Auston deadpans, and Mitch straight up cackles again. The warm feeling is back, and Auston tries to hide his smile as he focuses on the road.

 

*

 

Neither of them has that much energy to go hard, but the competitiveness keeps them from truly taking it easy. Auston amps up his game and it doesn’t matter how good Mitch’s hands are when he hasn’t practiced the same way Auston does (not to mention his size advantage). He overwhelms Mitch along the boards with some pushing and shoving, and probably too much laughing that seems to echo in the empty rink. Mitch complains loudly, but he’s the one that starts cheating, and he wraps an arm around Auston from behind to try and sneak the puck away from him, grabbing his arm and his waist.

 

“That’s two minutes for holding!” Auston yells back at him, but Mitch just laughs and keeps going, bear-hugging Auston, and he wrestles him away from the puck like he forgot what the purpose of the game was.

 

They land in a heap on the ice. Mitch is still laughing, and Auston’s ass feels cold when he hits the ice, but he likes the way Mitch has his arms around him, the soft expression on his face when he meets Auston’s eyes.

 

“Fourth line goon,” Auston says, because he needs to say something that isn’t stupid and ridiculous like comment on how pretty Mitch’s eyes or how he looks with his lips parted and panting heavily so close to Auston.

 

Mitch laughs so hard that Auston can feel him shaking where their arms are pressed together. They really shouldn’t be lying on the ice like this, but Auston doesn’t want to break whatever moment they’re having (it feels like one for him anyway).

 

“I had pretty good hands you know,” Mitch says, stretching his arms out in front of him and waving them in front of Auston’s face in a poor man’s version of jazz hands. “All skill here. I’d be a _top_ line goon.”

 

Mitch’s grin is so wide when he looks at Auston, and for a moment, that’s all he can focus on, the way Mitch’s mouth is a little too big for his face but somehow it works. It draws Auston in instead of pushes him away, and he just, he _wants_. It feels like an ache inside of him, and he wants nothing more than to close the distance between them and kiss Mitch to sate it. He wants to know if Mitch’s lips are as soft as they look, and for a moment, he really thinks it’s going to happen, the way Mitch licks his lips uncertainly, the way he leans in just a touch and all Auston has to do is make a move. He just needs to lean in and close the distance between them, and Mitch looks like he’s waiting, but he loses his opportunity when Mitch turns away and sit ups, like the moment was never there, like it was just a figment of his imagination, the want burning so deep that he’s _hallucinating_ now. Auston feels his face flame up at the realization.

 

“Break time over for me,” Mitch says with a smile. “I should get back to studying. Finals are coming up soon.”

 

“Uh sure, I’ll drive you back,” Auston says, avoiding Mitch’s eyes as he gets up. His clothes feel damp from laying on the ice, but he can’t be bothered to go change. He wants to go home and bury his face into something so he can forget what just happened, what he _thought_ was happening. “You should come to a game, when your finals are done,” Auston adds, just to ease the awkwardness.

 

“Already bribed Dyls to help me get tickets,” Mitch says, smiling. “Winter Classic baby!”

 

“Nothing says hockey like freezing your ass off outside,” Auston says, and that gets a laugh out of Mitch, smiling happily at Auston.

 

It’s all good. Auston didn’t ruin anything. They’re fine.

 

*

 

Auston isn’t like, ashamed of who he is or anything. He’s comfortable in his own skin, with who he’s attracted to, but there are people that he puts in a box of untouchables, and teammates are always the first on the list. Mitch isn’t a teammate, but he falls under the same category, a little too close to Stromer for Auston to risk trying anything with (and then failing). Whatever he feels building one-sidedly between him and Mitch, Auston knows better than to act on it.

 

It’s fine though, Auston’s fallen for teammates in the past before, and he’s been able to put them back into the right box. He can do the same with Mitch too.

 

*

 

Nothing changes with him and Mitch. They still text and snap like they always do. He still thinks about kissing Mitch, but he’s getting better at ignoring that want. It’s easy to do that when they’ve got a game scheduled practically every other day, losses piling up more than wins, but at least they’re still getting points. The win against the Pens boosts the mood in the room, but things go to shit against the Ducks and Stromer gets caught up in it.

 

At first, Auston’s focus is on the puck, but when he sees the crowd coming together and Stormer is right in the middle of it, Willy elbows him in the side and goes, “What the hell did they _do_ to Stromer?”

 

Auston shrugs because he genuinely doesn’t know, but he can tell Stromer is pissed because he’s throwing off his gloves and trying to grab someone’s jersey. Mo is out there dragging him away while Marty is stepping between Stromer and whoever else he’s trying to punch.

 

The scrum ends with Stromer picking up the extra minor and he sits angrily in the box, banging his stick and absolutely seething. And, as if to add insult to injury, the Ducks score on the powerplay and that ends up being the game winner. Stromer keeps his head down in the locker room, not acknowledging anyone even as they give him a pat on the back after the media cleared out and they’ve cleaned up.

 

Auston manages to catch him before he can leave though and asks, “You okay?” Stromer makes a face, like he can’t decide between feeling guilty or angry still, the different emotions crossing his features. He eventually settles on frustrated, face pinched and unhappy, and he shrugs helplessly. “Did they say you skate like you’ve got anchors tied to your ankles?”

 

That startles a weak laugh out of Stromer, but before Auston can give himself a pat on the back for it, Stromer’s face scrunches up angrily again. “It’s just, that’s the kind of shit that drives people out of the game,” Stromer spits out angrily, sounding frustrated and sad. “It doesn’t have to be explicit for it to be fucking wrong.”

 

It takes a while, but Auston has enough that he thinks he can piece together what Stromer’s getting at, and he knows there’s nothing he can say to make it better because he knows, probably better than most, the kind of shit that gets let go on the ice and in the locker room.

 

“Sucks,” Auston says, not really knowing what else he can say to make it better, but he squeezes Stromer’s shoulder and gives him an one-armed hug. “Hockey players are assholes.”

 

Stromer is still tense, like all that anger is keeping him rigid, but eventually, he sighs and the tension and fight bleeds out of him as he nods his head. “We really are.”

 

*

 

Auston gets a snap that night from Mitch. It’s a picture of Stromer chilling on the couch with an embarrassed smile on his face. The caption on it reads simply “the best kind of friend thx for having my back”, but somehow it feels more than that, like Mitch is trying to tell him something more.

 

*

 

They play two more games before Christmas, including a spectacular win against the Coyotes in Arizona, Auston’s first ever game in his hometown. It’s pretty much the best kind of way to enter their break, with a win against his hometown team, and then celebrating the holidays with his family and friends. The break is a whirlwind of visits from second cousins twice removed to his dear grandparents with enough food that it even makes Auston pause for thirds. It’s basically the greatest.

 

He also takes the opportunity of being back home, away from a hockey-crazed town, to go out and pick up someone new at a bar. The guy is really hot, knows how to work his tongue, and Auston gets a nice goodbye kiss that makes him weak in the knees when he gets up to leave. It’s fun and uncomplicated and Auston doesn’t think about Mitch at all.

 

Okay, he doesn’t think about Mitch _that_ much.

 

Throughout the break, he gets snaps and texts from Mitch about his own holiday celebrations. If Auston thought Mitch was a happy guy before, the freedom of no classes and exams has taken an invisible weight off his shoulders, and Mitch absolutely _shines_ with it. He’s smiling and happy in every picture he sends Auston, always cuddling someone, like his mom or his brother Chris or small children that makes Auston feel all sorts of crazy emotions he definitely shouldn’t be feeling. There are also a lot of pictures of Mitch with a guy that Auston recognizes as his friend from class, a cute hipster-looking guy with dark curls, big round glasses and bright green eyes. It looks like they’re celebrating Christmas together at the Marner house. An uglier feeling settles in the pit of his stomach after seeing those.

 

“Whatcha looking at?” Auston braces himself as Bree tosses herself next to him on the couch to sneak a look at his phone, the snap of Mitch making a silly face with a Santa hat with his buddy quickly disappearing. “Who’s that?”

 

“Buddy from Toronto,” Auston says simply before tucking his phone back into his pocket.

 

“You don’t have any friends outside of the team,” Bree says matter-of-factly and Auston can’t resist giving her a noogie for that. She screams and punches him in the ribs, cackling when Auston retaliates by tickling her until she’s breathless and flailing. She’s always hated it when he did that to her to get her to shut up. “God, I did not miss you at all.”

 

Auston rolls his eyes and ignores her when she sticks her tongue out at him before settling back against his side for a sneaky cuddle. It doesn’t take long before Alex comes out to join them too, tucking herself in on Auston’s other side while the Grinch plays in the background. It’s something so small and simple, but he misses these moments, has missed so many already, and he pushes whatever he’s feeling for Mitch as far into the box as he can so that he can focus on what matters instead.

 

*

 

Winter Classic is everything Auston thought it would be, and _more_. It’s every fan’s delight and every coach’s nightmare, and Auston got to be part of a little bit of history here with his OT winner. It basically feels like he’s floating on air and nothing can sink him. Not even Pierre McGuire, who he tries to escape from, can bring down his mood after the win.

 

The whole team goes out to celebrate. Auston gets so, so many shots passed to him that he’s well past tipsy when he remembers to check the messages on his phone. He got a bunch of snaps he didn’t check, and he takes a minute to play some of the stories he sees from Mitch. They’re mostly from the game, short clips of him in his decked-out Winter Classic gear and beanie with the pom-pom that looks fucking adorable. In another snap, it’s him with a dog filter and sticking his tongue out and Auston can’t stop smiling stupidly when he sees it. The last one is of him and his friend, the same guy that showed up in his Christmas snaps looking cold and annoyed and sticking his tongue out while Mitch is absolutely _beaming_ with the caption “#goleafsgo” and a thumb’s up for the camera.

 

God, Auston wishes Mitch was here right now. If he was, he could like… he doesn’t know _what_ he would do, exactly. Something probably. Something stupid even more likely. But _something_.

 

“Hey, first star of the night isn’t allowed to be frowny,” Willy says, frowning himself, as he pokes Auston right between the brows that are all furrowed without him even noticing. Auston perks up though when Mo shows up with another tray of shots and he snatches two of them at once, just for himself. He scored the overtime winning goal. He deserves shots. He deserves to get fucking _plastered_.

 

“Shots!” Willy cheers, raising his glass with Auston, and they all down their shots together, arms around each other. Mo rolls his eyes at them, but he’s smiling wide enough that Auston feels the knot in his chest disappear back into the box, right where it belongs. This is his team. They’ve got him. That’s the most important part.

 

*

 

Auston gets some ice time for Mitch and him after their win against Ottawa when they get a day off. It’s been a while since they last hung out, just the two of them without Stromer around, and Auston can feel the nervous energy coursing through him, making him jittery and almost restless. Mitch doesn’t make it better with his taunting and teasing, poking Auston with his stick and then racing away with the puck like this is a game of cat and mouse. Or maybe it hits a little too close to home, the way Auston has to constantly chase Mitch down while he slips away, but Auston feels the tension in his shoulders ebb away as they do some trick shots and pass the puck back and forth.

 

Mitch takes his breath away when he puts his edges on his display and dekes and fakes around an invisible D and goalie and puts the puck into the net with a beautiful display of hand-eye coordination when he flips it into the air. It makes Auston breathless and stupid and he can’t stop himself from asking, “You’re amazing. Why did you actually stop?” He winces inwardly the second it’s asked, wishes he could haul the words back into his stupid mouth. If the ice can swallow him whole, right about then, Auston would fucking _welcome_ it.

 

“I’m gay,” Mitch says, not looking away from Auston for a single moment, and it’s like he’s telling Auston the sky is blue, water is wet, ice is cold; it’s said so matter-of-factly that Auston doesn’t know what else to do but nod. “Being in a locker room, being around hockey players all the time, hearing the kinds of shit they say.” Mitch’s voice trails off, and it takes him a moment before he shrugs, like he’s shrugging off a physical weight off his shoulders, and continues. “I didn’t like the kind of guy I became when I was around it. The stuff I’d say to fit in, the kind of stuff I let go because I didn’t want to be _that_ kid. It wasn’t fun anymore.”

 

“Thank you for telling me,” Auston says, because there’s nothing else he can say. “I’m sorry I asked.”

 

Mitch smiles, shrugging again. “I wanted to tell you.” Auston doesn’t know how to respond to those words, can only nod stiffly. “Besides, I’m out now. I miss the game, but I like who I am a hell of a lot more now.”

 

“I like who you are now too,” Auston blurts out, and Mitch eyes go wide, surprised, but his smile is soft and warm, his lips curling up slightly, and he reaches out to hug Auston.

 

“Thanks,” Mitch says, his words getting muffled against the fabric of Auston’s hoodie.

 

Auston squeezes back and he wishes he was brave enough to hold on and not let Mitch go.

 

*

 

Their schedule ramps up with a six-game road trip, and in-between playing hockey, napping, eating, and more hockey, Mitch texts him silly updates on his classes. He gets a snap of a 3D model of a dick using a software that apparently costs more than Auston’s rookie salary and bonuses that makes Auston choke on his cereal when he sees it at team breakfast. Freddie gives him a weird look but ignores him in favour of demolishing his eggs. Auston sends back a sleepy selfie with his hood up and Mitch responds with a picture of his friend passed out on his textbook with his glasses on top of his head and Mitch gleefully tying his shoelaces together because he’s secretly eleven. The follow-up story with his buddy faceplanting spectacularly and throwing his pencil at him had Auston cackling.

 

After a loss in Dallas, Auston calls Mitch without thinking. It’s not like they never talk on the phone, but they’re usually texting or snapping. Calling seems like, something more. _Everything_ since Mitch came out to him feels like _more_ ¸ like they’re teetering on the edge of something, but what that something is, Auston’s not sure.

 

Mitch picks up after three rings. If he’s surprised to hear from Auston, he doesn’t show it though, and he greets Auston happily.

 

“So you’re still alive after pranking your buddy,” Auston says because he doesn’t want to talk about the game. He just wants to hear about Mitch’s day and maybe soak up a laugh or two so that he can have something else to think about tonight that isn’t their epic failures.

 

Mitch laughs, a soft rumbling one that makes Auston smile too, and says, “Jay never saw it coming. He was so pissed. Must’ve chased me for five minutes down the halls screaming. It was great.”

 

“Is he your–“ Auston stops because his brain remembered to do its fucking job but it’s too late because Mitch starts laughing even harder.

 

“Just buddies,” Mitch says, and the tension and weight that Auston didn’t even know existed disappears off Auston’s shoulders and chest, can practically feel the ugly knot that formed inside of him slowly unravel. Auston feels the warm pit of shame for even feeling it, the relief so palpable that everything suddenly feels looser and lighter, but it’s unmistakably there, and Auston can’t feel _too_ bad over it.

 

“Is there anyone else?” Auston asks, because his brain apparently decided to go for broke here. He waits, and waits, holding his breath until Mitch finally responds.

 

“No, not right now,” Mitch says.

 

“Is there someone… you want?”

 

The silence that stretches between them this time feels longer, heavier, and Auston keeps himself so still that his hands start to shake while he waits, clenching tightly around his phone.

 

“There is,” Mitch says, his voice softer than a whisper.

 

Auston’s brain stops him from poking any further, but he finally lets himself _hope_.

 

*

 

They don’t talk for a couple of weeks. Auston knows its because Mitch is busy with midterms and labs and assignments, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. He misses the updates he gets on what Mitch has been up to, like that week he spent in the lab strength-testing materials and Mitch had way too much fun trying to break things instead. Or the snaps of the late-night pizza runs he goes on with Jay because they have to finish their assignment on campus. Or the force diagrams that have too many arrows and Auston has no clue what they all mean, but sometimes Mitch draws smiley faces on the margins of his assignment and it makes Auston smile. They’re really mundane things, but Auston finds himself missing them anyway, aching over something that he’s not sure he’s allowed to have.

 

After a rough stretch where they lose more than they win, Babs gives them the day off and Auston sends Mitch a text, just to see how he’s doing. He gets a response almost immediately, full of exclamation marks and happy emojis and Auston takes that to mean the worst of it is over. Auston can’t help the smile as they make plans to hang out at Auston’s place when Mitch’s classes are over for the day.

 

Auston spends the next few hours lazing around, napping, and he intends to put on something actually decent before Mitch shows up, had his outfit practically laid out on his bed, but he must doze longer than he means to because the next thing he knows, there’s a knock on his door and Auston nearly trips over his coffee table as he stumbles to answer it, still fuzzy with sleep.

 

Mitch blinks at him, a smile slowly stretching across his face, and says, “Rough day?”

 

Auston knuckles the sleep from his eyes and definitely doesn’t whine, “We got back really late last night.”

 

“We can hang out another day,” Mitch says, the smile dropping from his face and brows pinched. “If you’re still tired.”

 

Auston shakes his head, which achieves both the goal of assuring Mitch he wants him to stay and getting rid of some of the cottony haziness in his brain.

 

“Naw, I’m good if you’re good,” Auston says.

 

“I’m good,” Mitch says, and he drops his backpack by the entryway and proceeds to go on a rant about this assignment that makes no sense, like their lectures taught them to calculate the electric charge and the assignment asks them to derive the speed of light, and he loses Auston a bit with a bunch of words he doesn’t understand, but he tries his best to pay attention because Mitch is always so expressive with his words, his hands, and Auston feels drawn to him like the pull of a magnet to a pole.

 

“Sorry, got ranty,” Mitch says afterwards, huffing out a breath, but then he’s smiling again, like it’s not even a big deal anymore. “I’m just happy midterms are over and I can finally _breathe_ again.”

 

“I’m glad it’s over too,” Auston blurts out, a little too honestly, but Mitch looks nothing but pleased from that response, and Auston can’t bring himself to care about making himself vulnerable in front of Mitch. He wishes he could be brave enough to make a move, to reach out and maybe hold Mitch’s hand, to slide an arm down his side and pull him in, to lean down and press his lips against Mitch’s. He wants to bring them closer than they already are, feels greedy enough to want more and more of Mitch, as much as he’s willing to give.

 

Mitch’s eyes don’t leave his, and the moment feels heavy between them, like he can read Auston’s wants like an open book. It reminds Auston of being on the ice with Mitch, the way they feed off of each other like they share the same brain, and maybe in a different world they’d be linemates on the same team, making plays and scoring goals that send the crowds to their feet, but right now, selfishly, all Auston wants to do is pass the puck to Mitch, and watch him make the next move.

 

“Stop me if I read this wrong,” Mitch says without looking away, taking one step forward. And another. And then another, until he’s standing so close that Auston’s positive that he can feel his heartbeat.

 

Auston’s eyes linger on Mitch and he makes no move to stop him when he bridges the gap between them.

 

Mitch was always the braver one between the two of them.

 

The kiss is soft and chaste, the touch too sweet, but Auston feels his heart flutter nonetheless. It’s that feeling of a first kiss, wanting to make it good but still searching and figuring things out, and Auston tries to catalog all the little reactions Mitch makes, the way his grip tightens and loosens on his hips, something so small yet feels so monumental. Auston curls his hand around the back of Mitch’s neck and deepens the kiss, coaxing his lips apart, and Mitch makes the most beautiful sound, this little hitch in his breath when they part just long enough. It makes Auston want to put his hands all over him, to slide his hand down Mitch’s chest, to feel the warmth of his skin under his shirt.

 

Mitch presses their foreheads together, panting against their parted lips, and Auston can’t take his eyes off of him. He looks so beautiful, lashes fanned across the tops of his cheeks as he keeps his gaze downwards, lips red and wet from their kisses, and Auston just wants to kiss him again and again. He doesn’t want to _ever_ stop kissing him.

 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Auston says because Mitch isn’t saying anything and he doesn’t want Mitch to misunderstand where he stands.

 

“Me too,” Mitch says, but he’s still not looking at Auston. “I didn’t think it’d actually happen though.”

 

Auston forces Mitch to look up at him, tilting his head up with a gentle but firm press of his fingers under his chin. Mitch’s eyes are wide and so, _so_ blue. It’s like looking into the vast ocean, so full of emotion. Auston has to kiss him again to calm the tidal wave that crashes over him.

 

“I’m all in, if you are,” Auston says, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t want to break whatever delicate moment they’re having right now, like if he even speaks too loudly it’d shatter it.

 

“I’m all in,” Mitch says, and when he kisses Auston, it feels like a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Annnd it's done! :) There are a few things that didn't make it onto the fic that I may add later, but for now, I'm just happy this is done (it was a rough ride). 
> 
> If you made it this far, thanks for reading :)


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